Tight Skirt
by writingwhimseys
Summary: It's a hot summer's day, and Racetrack is up to his usual schemes. But when he unknowingly goes a bit too far, Kid Blink has to bail him out (and not without consequences.) Rated T for language/intentions, RaceXBlink tomfoolery


Disclaimer: If I owned Newsies, Jack Kelly would be mine. (Why, Jack, why must you be with Sarah? Why...) So, no, I don't own Newsies.

*No stealing stories, thanks*

A/N: Sooooooo... I am just a wee bit obsessed with Newsies, both the movie and the musical. They are both amazing (although Christian Bale will always be the original Jack Kelly in my heart. Jeremy Jordan is AMAZING too, though.) Anywhoooo, Racetrack is just too hilarious not to write about and Blink is just too cheerful not to include. So, here's some Newsies stuff to enjoy! I'll probably write more Newsies stuff, and for the musical as well. Reviews/tips/comments are always appreciated! Cheers!

* * *

It was one of those days that New York is infamous for; the kind when the sun shines through the smoggy city, and the heat seeps under your collar, and try as you might, you're always tired. Weather, however, doesn't stop the city from carrying on in its noisy, fast paced track. Carriages and cars clattered and honked their way down the streets, and the faded awnings of shops stretched over the dirty sidewalks, their customers resting in their shade. On the corners throughout the city, their voices rising over the din, the newsies stood, selling the day's papers. They were always polite, always quick to take your outstretched pennies, and _always_ loud. But news is news, so for most people, it didn't matter who was selling so much as what was being sold. And that is why the newsies were…well, the newsies.

On the corner of Broadway, Racetrack sat on the curb, fanning his face with his patched up cap. As he pulled at his sticky collar, he glared up at Kid Blink, who was still up and shouting, his hand clutching his papers.

"Read all abowd it! Muther kills newboin wi' bare hands in sleep!" He yelled, peering at pedestrians passing by. A man walked up to him and asked for a paper, holding out some change. Blink snatched it up and whisked out a paper, handing it to the man with a tip of the imaginary cap and a toothy grin.

"Thank you, sir!" He said, before turning around and grabbing another paper from beside Race. Race shook his head.

"We shoulda bin done hours ago! It's so damn hawt out now," he exclaimed with a sigh. "If I'd gone ta Sheepshead instead 'a keepin' you stupe company, maybe I'da been relaxin' in a nice cool alley or somethin', instead a' sweatin' my damn guts out!" Blink cuffed him with a smile and hefted the last few papes on his shoulder.

"Only gowt sev'n left, then we're outta here. Hav'ah little patience. Ya ain't gonna die." Blink then turned back to the street and began his tirade again. Race wiped the sweat off his forehead and grumbed.

"Nawt like yoo'd care anyways." He fanned himself in dramatic fashion, blinking an unnecessary amount of times and sighing wistfully. Blink ignored Race's antics and kept shouting and waving his wares around. The newsies had learned long ago how to deal with Race when he was in a mood; ignore him and he'll go away. Sure enough, after a minute or two, the acting stopped and Race contented himself to muttering ominously while he waited.

* * *

The sun was much lower in the sky as the two boys began their trek back to the bording house. It had taken Blink longer than anticipated to sell off his last few papers, as the other newsies had long sold off theirs by that time. The news had circulated fast. In any case, after an hour or two, Blink dragged Race off his doorstep of self-pity (quite literally) and the two left their street corner, the afternoon heat having died down. The alleys were more shadowed, the buildings streaked with fading sunlight, and the usually crowded sidewalks were nearly empty. Blink kicked at a pebble as he walked, his eyes so concentrated on his boots that he walked into Race's shoulder as Race came to a dead halt in front of him. Rubbing his smarting arm, he frowned.

"Sweet God, wha's da matter wi' you?" Blink exclaimed. Race whistled softly, his eyes alight with mischief. He took off his cap and brushed it off.

"Will ya look at that goil ova' there?" He gestured to the left. A petite girl with long chestnut hair was at a produce stall down the street, picking out apples from the bin outside. She was bent over, her face in slight shadow, but it was obvious that she was pretty. Blink shrugged his shoulders.

"She's a looka, I guess." He replied. Race glanced at him quickly.

"Think I could tawk te her?" He asked, his voice questioning. Blink raised his eyebrows at him.

"I dunno. She may be a tight skirt, but I wouldn't skirt her, if ya get my drift." He grinned at his own joke. Race slapped him good-naturedly and, watching the girl, took a deep breath.

"Imma give it a try." He set his cap back on his head firmly and turned to Blink. "Ya wanna come wi'? Or are youse just gonna mess me up?" He chuckled as Blink took a swipe at him, nailing him in the head.

"Whateva, bumma. Go get 'em." He kicked Race from behind, propelling him forward. Race protested as he moved ahead, but kept walking in her direction. Blink followed at a distance. Slowly, Race approached the girl. He leaned on the wall beside her, his face collected and smooth as he spoke.

"Well, hello dere." He smiled. The girl looked with fear in her eyes, startled by Race's voice. But, at the sight of Race, she relaxed slightly.

"Hello," she replied. Her voice was gentle, with only a very faint accent at all. Something about the way she talked sounded familiar to Blink, who was now standing slightly behind Race. Race didn't appear to notice, however, as he went on.

"I'm Racetrack." He stuck out his hand to her and, with a small smile, the girl shook it. "An' dis here's Blink." Race said, motioning behind him. Blink gave the girl a small smile, which she returned.

"Sarah." The girl replied. At her name, Blink had a strange feeling he'd seen her before but he wasn't completely sure. As Race crossed his arms again, he went on.

"So, Sarah, youse from around dese pawrts?" His voice was assured and calm, like he was with all the ladies. Typical Racetrack. Sarah replied easily, her face slightly amused.

"Lived here my whole life." She motioned indifferently behind her. "My family and I rent a place just a few streets away." At her words, Blink's sense of familiarity grew stronger. He knew he'd heard of her somewhere. As he was racking his brain, Race and Sarah were still talking in their back and forth banter. Of course, it seemed as if Race was doing most of the talking.

As the two chatted, Blink watched Sarah for a moment as she concentrated on her task; the way she held her arms close to her body, her hands moving carefully amongst the fruit, and her eyes focused on her task while Racetrack blabbered on about something. Suddenly, realization hit Blink like a lightning bolt and, as he put two and two together, he knew _exactly_ why Sarah seemed so familiar. Knowing full well what Racetrack was unknowingly getting himself into, he grinned quietly to himself and listened to conversation in front of him.

"Eva been down te Centrel Pawk?" Race asked Sarah. Blink knew Race was up to something, and the glimmer of mischief in Race's eyes gave him away clearly. Sarah just nodded pleasantly.

"I was down there a couple days ago with a friend of mine. It's really pretty this time of year." At her words, Blink could see a small smile pulling at her lips. And, as much as he would have loved to see Race dig his own grave, Blink decided to take matters into his own hands. Feigning confusion, he squinted at Sarah and scratched his head.

"Hey, wait a minit- you look awfully familiar. Racetrack, don't she look familiar?" He prodded Race's shoulder and, not waiting for a response, kept talking. "Hold on. Sarah, Sarah… I got it. You're Davey's sista, ain't ye?" At her brother's name, Sarah brightened up and beamed at him.

"Yes. You two must be newsies, then!" Blink nodded vigorously while Racetrack, still in silent shock, simply stared. Pushing his act even farther, Blink leaned close to Racetrack's ear.

"That means she's Jacky's goil," he whispered loudly, fully aware that Sarah could hear his words. The latter blushed slightly at what she heard, but looked sort of pleased as well. Racetrack, on the other hand, did not. Breaking out of his stupor, Racetrack straightened up and spoke politely.

"Well, it's been a pleasure ta meet ya, Sarah, but me and Kid Blink here need ta head back to our quarters," he said, punctuating Blink's name with a jab of his elbow to Blink's ribs. Blink barely winced.

"It was nice to meet you, too. Suppose I'll see you two around sometime." She said with a smile. Racetrack returned it half-heartedly and, with a goodbye, they left Sarah to her task. As soon as the two had rounded the corner of the nearest street, Racetrack nearly tackled Blink and put him in a twisting headlock. Blink let Racetrack pummel him for a minute before fighting back and struggling out of the arms of his assailant, whose face was dark and brooding at his failed campaign and Blink's obvious treachery.

"For sweet Christ's sake, why didn't ya warn me sooner, ya louse! I nearly hooked up with Davey's sista! Man, ain't he gonna be happy when Sarah tells 'im all about me. He'll shout me halfway te Harlem!" Race stuffed his hands in his pockets and sighed. Blink grinned.

"Not as bad as Jack'll kick your ass." Watching Race's face redden at this realization, he began running full tilt down the street, with Race and his knobby fists following close behind, all the way back to the boarding house.

* * *

Unfortunately, Racetrack's worst fears came true when Jack, returning home later that night from dinner at the Jacobs' flat, immediately hunted down Race. Race had been playing poker with Skittery and Snipeshooter, the latter of which was having terrible luck and was losing badly. The sight of Race nervously trying to explain why he was hitting on Sarah to a surly-faced Jack was enough to send both competitors laughing hysterically. After informing Race that David was also itching to have a word with him about his sister in the morning, Jack left Race to his dealings. By that time, all the newsies knew what was going on, and all who were watching found the predicament quite amusing. Needless to say, the poker game was left unfinished.

Blink observed the whole thing from across the room, as he sat twiddling his unused cigar absent-mindedly. Although he felt rather proud of his hand in Race's undoing, he didn't laugh at the whole situation like he usually would. Something didn't sit quite right with him.

* * *

That night, as all the boys lay sleeping in their beds, Blink sat on the roof, staring at the moon. He couldn't fall asleep for the longest time, so he'd climbed out the window to get some fresh air. As the night breeze washed over him, he took a deep breath and let his mind go blank. Perhaps it was the thought of Race getting so unwound over his failed campaign; an unusual response from such a smooth talker. Maybe it was how angry Jack had seemed about the whole thing, even if it was just Racetrack Higgins being Racetrack Higgins. Maybe it was that Sarah was the first girl he'd talked to in a while. It could have been a lot of things. Blink sighed. Not everything about newsie life was good, which some didn't quite understand. But that was okay. At least there were nights like these with open windows and bright moons, when you could think about life and wonder about girls and family and small talk and indignation and protection and wishing for things you weren't sure you'd ever have. At least you could just think… and wonder if Davey really would shout Race out to Harlem. Or maybe to Queens, or the Bronx. Whichever was farther.


End file.
